Forgiven not Forgotten
by KaryInTheSky
Summary: Ron searches for forgiveness from the person it matters the most. He doesn't know if he deserves it, but he knows he wants it desperately . Deathly Hallows compliant. R/Hr.
1. Locked

_(...)'No-' said Harry quickly; he had not counted on this, he had meant them to understand that he was undertaking this most dangerous journey alone._

_'You said to us once before,' said Hermione quietly, 'that there was time to turn back if we wanted to. We've had time, haven't we?'_

_We're with you whatever happens,' said Ron._

Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince

--

His own words were ringing constantly in his head, as they had been ringing for the past days.

_We're with you whatever happens_

He wasn't anymore. She still was, but he wasn't.

Her voice had been ringing in his head for the past days as well. The angst of her tone, vanishing in the fierce of that night's storm, calling his name, was yet another source of torture. That night he knew he wanted to follow her voice the minute he stopped hearing it. But once he had left it was too late to go back.

He had been driven away from them, and it was no one's fault but his.

He would have given anything to hear her voice again, as long as it lead him to the only place he truly belonged in. He closed his eyes, listening to the record of her voice again, hoping that wishing to hear it would be enough. But not even magic is that simple, he knew that, but he couldn't help trying, and he had been trying for days now.

Ron was holding the deluminator, playing with its cold surface between his fingers, turning it around, and shutting the lights every other second, it was becoming a compulsive behavior. The radio of his room had been on for hours, but he wasn't listening at all. His head remained still on the pillow, and his eyes remained still on the ceiling. He already knew that ceiling well enough, he had been staring at it for the past nights, unable to find a way to fall sleep. It was torture either way, when he slept he had the most unbearable nightmares about Harry and Hermione being attacked, or Harry reproaching him for leaving, or Hermione screaming his name. But in his dreams he would never see their faces, he would only hear their voices, and there was no way he could reach out and touch them. In his dreams they were far away from him.

Ron couldn't take it anymore. Each day that passed by reminded him how unforgivable his behavior had been. He couldn't talk to Bill about it. When he arrived at shell cottage he told him what he had done, but he left out the details, he was too ashamed.

He had to get back. He knew he had to back, but he also knew he couldn't find his way back. He was physically and emotionally lost. As days had passed by he felt his friends even more distanced. He had left too impulsively, he didn't think straight that night. He had heard her screaming his name, and he still didn't react in time. That was Him. That was Ronald Weasley: the guy who always reacts last, the guy who needs more time. Well, he had his time now, and he didn't want it, he just wanted to find the way back.

The door of the room opened and Ron woke up from his unhealthy trance. He slipped the deluminator back to his pocket in a quick move. Fleur slid in making no noise at all. She held a tray in her hands, but for once Ron didn't feel like gazing at it to find out what it held.

"Oh! I'm sorry. I zought you were sleeping."

He raised his body from the bed and sat on the border of it, almost pretending he hadn't seen Fleur.

"I brought you tea...and somezing to eat. You 'aven't eaten today."

"I'm not--"

"--'ungry, I know."

She placed the tray on the night stand and sat on the border of the bed, by him. He didn't want company, and up until then Bill and Fleur had been very comprehensible about it. He was already wishing she would leave soon, but she started talking.

"Bill's worried about you." Ron opened his mouth to tell her that he wasn't going to talk about it, but Fleur spoke ahead of him. "'e didn't send me 'ere. But you are 'is little brother and I 'ate to see 'im worried."

Ron understood that she wasn't going to leave the room until she finished saying whatever it was she came to say. She fell silent, but it wasn't long before she retook the speech.

"I 'ave a little seester too, as you know. And the 'ardest zing about leaving France was leaving 'er behind. I zought she needed me, I zought I was the only one capable of taking care of 'er." Ron looked at her, wondering whether the conversation had a real point or not. "The fact is zath I did leave 'er, and I miss 'er everyday. Eet's 'ard...to leave behind the people we love the most. But sometimes...eet just 'appens."

Ron held his breath, she had touched the wound in the place it hurt the most, the place where he was punishing himself for leaving them behind.

"This...this is nothing like that, Fleur." He took his closed wrist and covered his mouth, trying to restrain the need of yelling out his impotence.

"Sorry, but I don't know, do I?" She took a deep breath that leaded Ron to think she was losing her patience. "But...Ron, as I tell Gaby: eet's never too broken to be fixed. Eet can't possibly be zat bad."

"What I did was bad enough to break everything." He made emphasis in that last word, because he felt it was all broken, and he didn't want anybody telling him that it was going to be okay when, thanks to him, it wasn't. He felt better torturing himself, he didn't need Fleur or anybody else to console him and make him feel any different.

"Well, you're wrong," she said firmly. Ron looked at her again, his anger was starting to move towards her. "You couldn't possibly 'ave done anyzing zat bad..." He was feeling worst and Fleur was showing no intentions of leaving, he wished strongly that she did so. He stood up from the bed and leaned against the wall, Fleur remained still, sitting calmly in front of him. Words were beginning to rise from his stomach, to his chest, and across his throat. He felt like collapsing, he was tired of remaining silent for so long, but at the same time he was too embarrassed of himself to talk about it.

He took his hands to his head and pressed them hard against it, involuntarily he felt his body sliding on the wall, and sitting on the floor.

"I--I, left them," He begun, although that information was redundant. "I swore myself I wouldn't, I promised them I wouldn't, but I left." His hands remained pressed against his head, he could feel Fleur's eyes upon him. "I abandoned them."

"So...you made a mistake. You're 'uman, Ron, maybe you 'ad reasons."

"No! This isn't like that, what I did was..."

"Fixable. You can mend eet. Whatever eet was, you can still find them and mend eet." Ron's face felt insanely hot, he was afraid he'd start crying if he kept talking, which would only embarrass him more.

"I broke him a promise and..." he tried to control his voice from breaking down, "I--I let her down." He wasn't sure why he admitted that last, maybe it was because Fleur wasn't one of his brothers.

Neither Bill nor Charlie would have behaved as badly as he did. Charlie was strong, he wasn't that hard to manipulate, and Bill was…Bill: responsible and well centered. Although Bill had shown sympathy at Ron when he confessed with little detail what he had done, he knew his older brother was silently judging him, and he couldn't blame him. Fred and George wouldn't have done such a thing either. Ginny…Ginny had too much character, clearly drawn out from their mother.

It was a fact that none of the members of his family would have ever left their best friends in a clear time of need. He was leaving out Percy, but that was because comparing himself to Percy made him feel even worst.

But Fleur wasn't his mother or his father, Fleur wasn't Ginny, and that was making it easier to be honest about it.

"'ermione? You let 'ermione down..." Fleur wasn't hesitating about getting the information straight out, but Ron was still showing resistance. He nodded and took his hands away from his face, no point on covering it anymore.

"She...she asked me not to leave, she ran after me, she was screaming…" he wrinkled his face painfully, "but I did it anyway. At that moment I thought I had to, it was weird I--" For a moment he felt like blaming it all on the locket but that would have been too much, it was wise to keep everything else in secret. "I swear… I wanted to get back as soon as I left, but I couldn't."

Fleur was silent, she was thinking of what was best to say. She looked at him deeply, stood up from the bed and kneeled close to his sitting spot in the floor.

"You zink she won't forgive you."

"They're not going to forgive me, ever."

"No, I mean 'er", she corrected. Ron remained silent. "You know Harry might forgive you, but you zink _she_ won't." He raised his eyes and looked at her, his frown deep. It was true, he was sure Hermione wouldn't forgive him, not after everything that had happened. He nodded, it was as far as he could go. Fleur placed a hand on his cheek, her soft fingers held his face.

"Ron, look at me," he obeyed, "she will forgive you." Fleur spoke very sure of herself. The security in her words was admirable, and for a moment it gave him a little ray of hope he had not felt before.

"You don't know Hermione, you don't know anything, you have no idea." He was right, she didn't know Hermione, not like he did, not even close. She didn't know what was going on.

"I don't. But I know women," she said sharply, surprising Ron once again with her high level of security. "And I know she'll forgive you. She might show resistance at first but I can assure you she won't be mad at you forever. You know…" she hesitated, as if she was about to hand out restricted information. "We women are pretty good at…forgiving. But don't tell Bill I told you zat," she said with a clever smile. "But if it gets tough, zen all you 'ave to do is give 'er a reason, I'm sure you'll find more than one."

She caressed his skin before letting go of his face. She stood up, smiling, and fixed the wrinkles of her dress. "But, before they forgive you Ron, you're going to 'ave to do so yourself." He looked up at her, he couldn't find a way to forgive himself, not before they did. "They need you, just as much as you need them."

"I thought they were better off without me."

"Is zat so? Then why are you so desperate to get back?"

"What if I can't find them?"

"You will, Ron. You 'ave to look 'arder". She looked around the room. "But you won't find them in 'ere, zat's for sure." She walked away, to the door.

"Fleur."

"I won't say anyzing, I'll just tell Bill you're doing better," she said, her hand on the doorknob and a sweet smile across her face. Ron smiled back, the first time in weeks.

He rested his head against the wall and remained as still as possible. He replayed Hermione's voice inside his head and wondered if he should try to apparate in the forest again to look for them in the woods, hopefully they hadn't moved much. No, knowing Hermione they had moved at least 20 times since he left.

He heard her voice again, this time softer, clearer, and closer. He felt her as close as ever, this time her voice wasn't crying or screaming, it was soft, natural. At first he didn't know if he was imagining it or actually hearing it. But the voice drew closer, and he understood that it wasn't inside his head, it was coming from some other place. When he heard it clear enough, he understood it was his name what the familiar voice was pronouncing, and it was in his pocket. As weird as it seemed he didn't hesitate to draw the deluminator from his pants. His chest was filled with excitement. He closed his eyes, and opened the deluminator. The lights of the room went off, and when he opened his eyes he saw nothing but a powerful glow coming through the window. Without thinking it through he packed his things and followed the light.

He was gone.

--

_A/N: This will probably be a three-shot. I hope you liked the first one! Please, don't forget to leave a review!_


	2. Released

Ron moved between his sheets once more. He was wide awake, and with no real intension of falling asleep. He heard Harry's snoring growing louder while he stared at Hermione's empty bed.

He had returned nights ago and with his return his life went back on track. Harry and him where in the best of terms and that was sincerely priceless, and although Hermione's greeting was not what he had wanted it to be, he felt somehow lucky to be close to her again. The first night he slept like a log, feeling positive that Hermione's anger would fade within a couple of days.

But the couple of days pasted by and Hermione's anger turned into mere indifference. He had handled her indifference in the past and had no pleasant memories of it. Through indifference she had the ability of making him feel like he wasn't there, and he wasn't going to settle for that again.

He stood up from the bunk in a quick move, noticing that Harry moved as well. Quietly, he grabbed his jacket and walked across the tent to make sure he didn't wake his friend while he reached the exit. As the cold air invaded his exposed skin he wrapped his arms over his chest, and tried to bring a little warmth to his body.

Without having to search much his eyes found Hermione, sitting on the ground, resting her back against an old tree, and wrapped in a sweater.

He contemplated her for a moment. She looked still and seemed concentrated, thinking deeply about something. Her eyes were fixed on a spot on the ground. He walked towards her in silence, when he reached her he noticed she hadn't heard him come. Breaking the silence was pretty risky considering the situation, but he did it anyway.

"Hermione..."

His voice startled her immediately and she turned back with her wand held high, pointing straight at his head. Ron reacted in a defensive move, knowing that Hermione's wand was one thing he did not want to stand in front of.

"Oh. It's you," she whispered absently, retrieving her wand. "You scared me to death". She turned around again recovering the color of her face and glancing at the same random spot on the grass. Those were the only words that managed to fall off her mouth. She retook her silent treatment, ignoring the presence of Ron behind her.

"Mind if I sit?" he asked, already sitting on the floor next to her, and resting his back against the same tree. He could see her face from his position, her eyes were absent, and for a moment he thought she hadn't heard him. She did not answer his question and she did not turn her face to look at him. He felt as if he wasn't there, and for a second he thought he was an outsider looking at a memory, desperate to make contact with it.

They sat still for a few minutes. Hermione did not seem uncomfortable with the silence that was growing between them, but Ron was despairing, he needed words. He thought that if he got up now and left, she wouldn't notice at all. But he did not want to leave, he needed to talk to her, and most of all he needed to hear her talk.

Finally, an absolute silence took over the place, wrapping the leaves, the branches, the ground and the wind. But mostly silence took over the uncomfortable coldness in the night. He stared at her for a while, and watched her breathing slowly. Her head was resting against the old tree, extremely calmed. Her eyes did not wonder, they were fixed still into the night. Not once did she move to look at him. Once again he felt like he was not there.

Indifference had always been her brightest form of punishment, even when she did not perform it consciously. In all the years he had known her when she shouted at him he would simply shout back, when she crossed the line with hard words he would attempt to use even stronger words on her. They were used to fighting and yelling, in public or private, it did not matter to them. Their fights were something that no else was brave enough to get in the middle of. They could disagree for hours, trying to make each other see how wrong the other one was, and they would almost never apologize to each other. But their attention was never parted from the other, fighting only permitted them to look at each other more and to talk to each other closely. So, in all those years, indifference had always been the one thing that really hurt. Even thought he would never admit it out loud he would rather be fighting with her right now than feeling like part of the forest, like one more rock, completely random to her.

It was probably all his fault. He was the one who had to make the first move, he was supposed to tell her the truth. He had the chance to tell her what he felt, why he felt it, the reason he left, and wait for her to get mad at him for his idiotic behavior. He had the chance to blame it all on the locket too, knowing that Harry would back him up. But he didn't, somehow it did not seem like the right thing to do. It wasn't the smart way to act, not with her. Besides, he wasn't ready to see Hermione's face as he told her about the locket, about the effect it had on him, about the fears that grew on him when he was wearing it –especially the ones that concerned her-. He did not think he was ever going to be ready to tell her all that.

"How much longer…are we going to do this?" He dared to ask. All he got from that question was a loud noise from her throat, like a sarcastic laugh, a very irritating one. But he didn't feel like moving and going back to the tent, in spite of the cold night and in spite of her treatment he did not feel like going away.

For a moment he felt like shaking her, to see if at least one word, even a mean one, slipped out of her lips. He remembered Fleur and her advices, and how she made him feel secure a few days ago.

"Listen," he started. "I--I never wanted to hurt you. I never meant--"The minute he heard the words coming out of his mouth he understood how useless they were. There was no point on telling her again how sorry he was. "--And yet…I seem to have a knack for upsetting you."

"Yes, you do," she said, turning her head around, and looking straight at him for the first time that night. It seemed like she had waited to say that small line since he returned. She took a deep but small breath and he feared that she was simply going to ask him to leave her alone.

"Just say something, anything…" He said looking at her.

"You know, Ron…" she said looking away.

"What?"

"We thought you were gone…for good. We didn't think you'd come back."

"I told you why I couldn't come back right away."

"That's not the point!" she said sounding upset, and refusing to look at him again. "We thought—" a sigh escaped her lips, "—I thought I had to put you behind."

Ron froze. He was certainly not expecting that. What was that supposed to mean? Was that an obvious statement that he was supposed to understand? But most important was how much she had succeeded in her attempt of forgetting about him. He gained a little breath to ask the necessary question.

"Well…did you?" He said, almost whispering, leaning closely. She shook her head slowly.

"I tried…" she answered simply provoking a knot in Ron's stomach. "…But…no." She refused to be more specific.

A little smile grew on the side of his lips. He had not felt that hopeful since the day of his return. He felt his arm resting incidentally against hers, noticing how close they were and how she had not moved to avoid his touch.

He felt the urge of touching her more, of grabbing her hand, her face, her hair, anything. For a few seconds he approached her hand with his but stopped half way. Any sudden move could spoil everything. His impulses had always driven him to doing stupid things, so he decided to avoid them all.

"Ron…" She said again after another few minutes of silence.

"Yeah?"

"Ron, if you ever, _ever_ leave again—"

"I won't!" he interrupted, shaking his head. "I won't."

"How am I supposed to believe that?" she said bitterly, shutting her eyes for a moment. He had no real answer, or at least no convincing answer to that question.

"You—you have to. You have to believe me." He searched for her eyes. Once they met again he hoped for that to be enough. After a few seconds she looked down. "I was an idiot. I know that. But you have to believe me…I'm never leaving you again".

His last statement was too firm, coming from Ron's mouth. Hermione raised her head again, frowning, obviously understanding the message of the sentence.

"—you both," he corrected. "I'm never leaving you both again". Hermione looked at him directly. He knew it had been stupid to deny what he had just meant. He was supposed to let her know already. This was probably a good moment, probably the best moment he was going to get. But for some reason he didn't feel brave enough yet. If what she wanted was a reason then he had hundreds of reasons for her to forgive him, but they all involved a great deal of confessions, and he didn't know how she would react to them.

"It's…" He started, gaining her attention once again, along with the sight of her firm eyes. "It's…us."

"What?" She asked frowning. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"That it's us! You can't just be mad at me forever, it's pretty pointless." After that last she laughed, and it was sincere, not sarcastic or annoying. It was the same melodious sound that he was so fond of hearing since he could remember.

"That's the best you've got?" She said in a smile. He felt relieved to be part of her smile once again.

"I think that's a pretty good reason," he said brightly. She shook her head but maintained her wonderful smile. She rested her head against the tree again and sighed. Ron allowed himself to think that maybe she felt as relieved as he did.

"Why don't you go inside? I'll watch for the rest of the night," he suggested as he stood up from the ground.

"No, I'm alright," she said firmly, rejecting his small act of gallantry. She tried to cover herself properly with the sweater she was wearing.

He took off his jacket, leaned down as closely to her as possible, and wrapped her back and chest with it. She didn't move away, instead she looked at him silently. He was close enough to feel her breathing. His hands rubbed her shoulders, trying to warm her up but also making him acknowledge that the bounders between her skin and his hands were a shirt, a sweater and now his jacket. She separated her lips for a moment but didn't say a word. Their eyes met firmly, like they had done many times before.

Harry snored louder than ever, and like many times before their concentration broke. Ron leaned back resentfully as he let go of Hermione's shoulders. She grabbed the jacket tightly with her hands, trying to warm herself, or trying to compensate for the absence of Ron's hands.

"Thanks," she said quietly.

"Are we okay, then?" He asked, his hand hidden in his pockets, trying to seem casual.

"I guess," she answered plainly, demonstrating to be too proud to completely give in.

"Does that mean we are…friends again?" he grinned shyly.

"Don't push it Ron," she said controlling a smile, looking at him in the eyes again.

"Right," he said, feeling free to smile himself. "We'll take it slow, then."

Hermione gave him a firm glance. He felt strangely intimidated, wondering if she was trying to read his thoughts. He managed to maintain his eyes firm on her as well.

"We'll take it slow," she agreed. Ron nodded, smiled and headed back for the tent, where he threw himself on his bed with a relaxed smile playing on his lips, until he calmed himself enough to fall asleep.

--

_A/N: The facts are these: If Ron were daring when it comes to declaring his feelings, then it wouldn't really be Ron, and we wouldn't love him as much as we do! Please Review!_


	3. Whole

The crowded life of the living room had faded, just like the fire of the chimney. Ron had been left on the couch to the dangerous mercy of his own thoughts. Bill and Fleur stood right behind him, deep into discussion, but Ron wasn't listening. The weight of his body was sinking in the couch, and his head spun with images, his thoughts were crowded like never before. Never before had he experienced so many images running across his head. Not even after they broke into the Ministry, not even after the night he lost himself to anger and jealousy, driving him to leave everything behind.

Now all those memories where dancing in his head at the same time, along with new images that formed new, painful memories he really wished to let go. There were small moments were the images were accompanied by the despairing ghost of Hermione's echoed screaming, and Ron only wondered if he would be able to let go of that madding sound any time soon.

Bill broke his concentration when he sat by him on the couch. "Fleur went to get some blankets. You three will sleep here in the living room. The girls can sleep in one room. We'll have to get accustomed until we can send Mr. Ollivander back…and well, apparently we'll have to get used to Griphook…" Said Bill resentfully, to which Ron simply nodded, still unable to stop torturing himself. The night had been long up until now, almost endless, but Ron had been distracted since they arrived at Shell Cottage, his mind had been focused on many things. After questioning the goblin and the wand maker, Hermione, Harry and him had been trying to figure it all out at once, until they realized how late it was getting, and Hermione admitted that she was too tired to keep going. Now, that he had been left alone in the living room for more than a minute, he became slave of his own thoughts.

"Ron…" said Bill, clearly hesitating. "Who did this to all of you? Who stabbed the elf?" He stopped, then continued. "Who tortured Hermione?"

Ron shook his head, eyes still on the fire.

"For heaven's sake Ron!" Bill stood up impatiently. "You have to say something! We could help, you know. I understand you but…" He rested his body against the chimney. "But, this is getting out of hand. You have us in the dark." Ron didn't look at him.

"Sorry Bill." Bill shook his head in disapproval but took a deep, patient breath.

"Never mind," he said after seconds of silence, acknowledging that once again he wasn't going to get a word out of Ron. He walked towards him again, leaned and rested a hand on his shoulder. "I get it. You won't say a word." Ron shrugged, his face was unreadable. "Anyway, you are all here, and _you_ are alright. That's what matters." Ron let a groan escape his mouth involuntarily. He took his hands to his face. He wasn't alright, the images where still playing with his head. And now the still image of Hermione lying unconscious with her neck bleeding, and covered in tiny glasses, was the one conquering it all. He couldn't stop remembering the feeling he had had only hours ago, when he thought for a moment that she wasn't going to open her eyes ever again.

"I want to kill her," he said, between his fingers, because he wanted Bellatrix to feel the same amount of pain Hermione had felt, even if Ron didn't know what it had been like, since he hadn't been the tortured one. Bill didn't ask any questions, and after frowning for a moment he understood quickly, or at least made Ron believe that he understood how he felt, even if he didn't really know what had happened to them. When he spoke again his voice was firm, mature and very serious.

"I would want to kill anyone who hurt Fleur like that." Ron raised his eyes at Bill. Bill, the sensate, well centered son of the family wouldn't commonly encourage such an aggressive statement on his little brother. But Bill held his grip tight on Ron, because, through his dark unawareness of what had happened to them hours ago, he was trying to understand his brother's feelings.

Fleur walked with a pile of blankets and a few pillows in her arms, behind her walked Dean and seconds later Harry entered from the bathroom, all crowding the living room again. Bill held his brother's shoulder tightly before letting go completely.

"'ere you go," said Fleur putting everything down. "I'll go get ze zings for ze girls." She walked away again.

"Bathroom's free," said Harry as he sat on a chair near them.

Bill patted Ron's back before standing up. "You should get cleaned up. Get some rest."

With a quick nod Ron stood up from the couch and walked his way up the stairs to the bathroom, although he didn't want to be left alone again, he didn't want his mind to torture him again.

Once he stopped in front of the bathroom door he changed his mind instinctively. Instead of entering he walked a few steps more and knocked one of the bedroom doors of the hallway. Luna's soothing voice encouraged him to enter the room. The little room held two small beds; in one of them laid Hermione, her eyes closed. Luna was covering her up with a small blanket.

"She fell asleep really fast. She was still talking and all…" said Luna. Ron walked forward; it was hard to move around without bumping into something. He silently sat on the same bed Hermione was, his eyes fixed on her closed ones. Luna stayed still for a moment but reacted faster than he had expected. "I'll be right back," she said calmly as she left the room, closing the door behind her.

Ron gazed at her, she was breathing very slowly, and other than her chest rising very other second she wasn't moving at all. Her hair was spread unevenly across her face and the pillow. Some of her curls, dry and messy, wrapped her neck, but Ron could spot the small scar that was left on her skin.

He didn't know what made his hand move towards her neck, but he didn't avoid the impulse. Maybe it was the fact that she was asleep what drove him to be a little more daring than usual.

With the tip of his index he touched the small new scar, and wondered if it would fade out completely, or if she would have it to remember her of that night every time she looked at herself in the mirror. Without noticing his thumb traveled through the expression lines of her neck, and after a second the rest of his fingers joined in the act of caressing her skin, a portion of her skin he wasn't used to feeling, for he had never touched her bare neck before.

Feeling her pulse pounding under her skin his fingers went up her jaw line. Her face was pale, her cheeks lacked of that natural pink blush that characterized her, that same pink blush that turned into an infuriated red each time she was mad, something he was good at identifying, and had silently admitted to be attracted to. That same pink blush covered her nose as well whenever she was embarrassed. But now it was not there. Her pale face showed her to be absent, not entirely recovered.

His thumb traveled up her skin again and landed on the most forbidden of all the places of her face. Ron had concentrated his thumb on her lips, he traced a path upon them, a path he would have preferred to trace with his own mouth.

A little ray of sanity struck him. And just as he realized that it was time to stop his odd behavior, Hermione slowly opened her eyes. Ron let go of her face, half hoping that she hadn't noticed, and half hoping that she had.

Once she had opened her eyes entirely a small smile covered her lonely lips.

"Sorry, I woke you..." he said, through the rough sound of his throat. She shook her head slowly, she seemed a little disconcerted, probably because the last person she had seen before falling asleep had been Luna and now it was Ron sitting closely to her, caressing her skin without permission.

"Is it still night?" she asked. He nodded acknowledging that she wanted the night to finally be over. He wanted that as well, because it really had been a long night, and he simply wanted to leave it behind. They stared into each other's gaze for a few seconds. Hermione looked steady, tranquil; he didn't understand how she could be so calmed, maybe it was her lack of strength.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, not knowing what to really say.

"I'm alright." She shrugged her shoulders. He didn't stop looking straight at her, he just couldn't stop realizing how close she had been of slipping away.

"What?" She asked after a while of silent stares. "What is it?"

"Nothing…"

"Then stop looking at me like that."

"Like what?" He asked innocently. She rolled her eyes but smiled widely, a smile he returned anxiously. "You must be tired," he concluded, thinking that his late night visit could be making her uncomfortable. He really shouldn't be there. But when he was about to get up she stopped him. The touch of her skin embracing his wrist was more than enough for him to settle again, this time closer to her, but neither of them pronounced a word.

She moved slowly, looking clearly uncomfortable with her position on the bed. She had complained a while ago about how bad her body ached.

"You sure you're alright?"

"Yes Ron, I'm fine," she repeated breathlessly. "I'm sure I'll feel better tomorrow. I just—"

"—How did you do it?" he interrupted out of nowhere, although the question had been dancing in his head for a while now.

"Do what?"

"Keep it together for so long…" he couldn't stop his eyes from revealing how much he really admired her. She didn't answer right away, and after a moment of waiting he fixed his sight on a curl that had slid his way down her forehead, covering one of her eyes.

"You would have done the same..." Ron reached to push away the curl that was blocking her powerful gaze, he caressed her forehead and that gave her enough encouragement to speak again. "I was scared," she admitted, softly, almost through a whisper, just for him to hear. And after a pause she spoke again. "Where you scared?"

He felt ashamed of his answer. She had no idea. She didn't witness how he lost his mind down at the cellar, she didn't hear him cry her name a million times, she didn't know that in his desperation he blacked out for a moment, and he still couldn't remember parts of it. She definitely had no idea.

"To death…" he answered, his hand now resting shamelessly on her cheek. "Hermione… I'm…sorry…"

"What?" she said, thrown off by his apology.

"I'm sorry…about everything."

"Ron, stop." She grabbed tightly the hand that had been feeling her skin, as firmly as her strength allowed her. He closed his fist immediately so he could trap her small hand inside his. "Stop apologizing."

"I just…I've been—"

"Really Ron, stop it. If anything…you are the one who has to forgive yourself." He had heard that. He knew he had heard those same words somewhere before, nights ago, no, weeks ago. In that same cottage he had been told just the same thing.

They didn't say much after that last, and Ron didn't let go of her grip, he felt the coldness of her skin vanishing, and it wasn't long before her hand felt warm again. He knew how wonderful it was to hold her hand, and he regretted the fact that up until now he hadn't done it all the times he had wanted to. Ron didn't know how long they stayed like that.

"You really should get some rest Ron," said Hermione, after a silence that hadn't been uncomfortable at all. "You look terrible," she finished with a teasing smile. He couldn't hold back a chuckle.

"Yeah well, you look terrible too," he replied, unable to restrain a Retort. The basis of their relationship had been sustained over the years by fighting over who was last to talk, and moments like these weren't an exception.

Still holding tightly to her grip, his free hand reached for her face again. He didn't hesitate when he caressed her skin once again, and he couldn't restrain the impulse of settling on her still pale lips again. But this time she was wide awake, conscious and she wasn't putting any resistance at all.

He didn't acknowledge that the distance between them had shortened significantly until the knock on the door broke everything that had been warming up for the last minutes. Ron straightened himself, and let go of her hand, breaking the connection between them. Fleur walked in, holding another set of blankets.

"Oh! I'm sorry I –"

"No, that's fine. Just leaving," he said clearing his throat. As he got up he threw one last glance at Hermione, who smiled freely.

He tried to walk away as fast as possible, fighting the pleased smile that was taking over his face. But when he got to the door frame Fleur acted faster than he had expected.

"I was right, was I not?" she whispered, leaning against the door. Ron looked down, avoiding her sight, for his skin was already turning scarlet. Fleur looked back at the bed, Hermione's eyes were already closed. "I told you she would forgive you, didn't I?"

Ron looked up at her, but he didn't answer or nod, or thank her for her encouragement. She had been right, but he just smiled shyly, which was enough for Fleur to smile back.

"I 'ope you gave 'er a good reason…" she said, this time smirking slightly.

Ron knew the tone of his skin was definitely red by now, but before walking away, to avoid any more embarrassing comments from Fleur's side, he couldn't restrain the need to glance at Hermione again, deep in sleep. "I don't know…" he said softly, through an unconscious smile. "I think…she already had one."

_A/N: Yep, the end of this three-shot! I loved writing Ron's point of view. I hope you enjoyed reading it, because more than a missing moment this is just me exploring a little inside Ron's head.__ Please, a review won't take you more than a second or two. _


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